


We Watched The Sunset Over The Castle On The Hill

by teenuviel1227



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: M/M, Smut and Fluff, Sunmi and some of the Got7 boys make cameos, cameo by Joshua Hong, referenced past/side Joshua/Jae, side Sungpil, soulmate!AU with a twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-28 12:37:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14449440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenuviel1227/pseuds/teenuviel1227
Summary: Jae’s pretty much given up on looking for his soulmate--anyway, it isn’t so bad perpetually looking young when all of your friends have begun to look their age. Anyway, it’s a pretty good life being Jae Park aka yellowpostitman, one of the world’s most famous singer-songwriters. Sure, he’d made his fortune on a song about looking for his soulmate, but he kind of likes that irony. Brian hasn’t given up because Brian never even started looking. A soulmate: someone to whom you’re automatically tied to sounds like his worst nightmare. He loves being the youngest CEO in the world by default, has never understood why other people would let someone hold them back like that. They’re both fine, both content, both just happy to be who they are--and then, of course, they meet.Or the soulmate AU where people stop aging at 18 and only begin again once they meet their soulmate.





	1. My Sin, My Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [younghyun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/younghyun/gifts).



> This was requested on my CC based on this prompt: http://dissypoo.tumblr.com/post/120839741822/scientistsoldier-airtrafficcontroller
> 
> Title is from Castle on the Hill by Ed Sheeran but let’s be honest, I only listened to the Day6 version.
> 
> To the person who requested it, I hope you enjoy it. :D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they meet after a lifetime of avoidance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update on Sunday, GMT+8.  
> CC/Twt: teenuviel1227

The party is in January at Kang Manor, a shindig to kick off the lunar new year--all of Seoul was on vacation, the night sky studded with fireworks, music ringing in the wide, ivory halls. It’s the thing that Brian has been looking forward to the most for the past few months. He needs to shake off the stress, needs to have a couple of drinks, maybe find someone--or, well, _someones_ if he’s in the mood--to take to bed. As a general rule, the start of every year is always stressful for him, but moreso this one because he’d decided to spend the holidays in Ilsan with his mom. Christmas and his birthday are his least favorite holidays because everyone is always on his case about how he still doesn’t look any older, about how it isn’t healthy for people to grow old alone. You need to settle down, his mom kept  saying.

Brian’s silent addendum: not until I turn to dust.

His mom had a tick, something she did everytime the topic rolled around: _you know, Younghyun, your father and I_ , she’d begin--and then trail off, tapping the point on her chest just above her heart thrice instead of saying anything more.

_Knock, knock, knock--true love._

Brian’s dad had passed away when he was sixteen: a heart attack from staying up too late, from worrying too much, from working too hard. Kang Industries, specializing in metal and gas, in energy and transportation--in the end, none of the people they paid and the calls they made had been able to get an ambulance to their Ilsan mansion in time to save him. And so Brian had become the company’s youngest CEO, stepping up to the plate the minute he turned eighteen. And so he’d watched his mother, his beautiful mother with her dark hair and warm smile, slowly turn gray--not aging the way that she had when his dad was alive, not becoming more herself, but growing an absence, a pallor that stripped all the things Brian loved so much away. Over the years, her stories became more reluctantly drawn, smiles no longer lingering. Finding your soulmate would give you your life’s spring in which to relish all of the good things in life--but just like _that_ , losing them would take the light out of you. When they left or when they died, you spent the rest of your life in mourning. No one ever talks about the downside of real or true love which is that it doesn’t last.

Brian doesn’t go looking for his soulmate because he doesn’t want to become like his mother--and even more so, doesn’t want to impose that state of grayness, of loss, of absence of anyone in his wake. This part he never tells his mom because he doesn’t want to break her heart further. This part he doesn’t tell anyone: not even even his bestfriends, Sungjin and Wonpil, who had found their soulmates in each other--had met when they were kids and never stopped aging, shooting past eighteen like it was flag waving on a racetrack.

Brian knows that life isn't for him. Heartache isn’t for him.

Because that’s what it is, isn’t it?

The little taps that Brian’s mom pressed against her chest following the anecdote about her and Brian’s father that she never quite got to dole out, instead holding it between them, taut and frayed like old rope.

_Knock, knock, knock--the sound of your heart breaking._

Brian’s always been a quick learner, has always been ahead of the lesson plan: accelerated, recognized, been given hundreds of medals over the year. He knew, even at sixteen that he wasn’t going to make his dad’s mistakes, his mom’s mistakes. And he knows it even now, at 31, his face, his body not a day over 18.

He is never, ever going to find his soulmate.

Or so he hopes.

He grins, takes a sip from his gin martini as he turns to admire his estate, his party--the glowing lights, the neatly manicured lawn, the pool reflecting all of the colors, everyone beautifully dressed in flowing chiffon and well-cut suits.

In the night sky, the stars hung bright.

“Well, Bri,” Sungjin says, clapping a hand on Brian’s shoulder. “I’ve got to hand it to you. Every year I think you’re going to run out of steam, every year, you just keep on keeping on.”

Brian lets out a chuckle. “Why do you always underestimate me? I’ve been so on edge the past few months, if tonight didn’t go well, I’d probably break in half from all the stress.”

“Acquisitions have been up and we all know that’s awesome for the long-term,” Wonpil pipes up, joining them as he hands Sungjin a glass of champagne before slipping an arm around Sungjin’s waist, leaning his head on his chest. “I don’t think it’s work that’s stressing you out. I think it’s the fact that you just turned 31 and--”

Sungjin’s eyes grow wide. “--Pil, don’t start--”

“--it’s okay, Sungjin,” Brian says, holding a hand up and grinning as something--or someone--catches his eye from across the courtyard: blonde hair, dark suit, a tall glass of milk. “I’m used to Pillie by now. I get it, you’re a romantic. You two have been in love forever and like to pick on me for it. That’s fine. I like some romance in my life too albeit more risque, a little bit less permanent which in a way, kind of adds to the intensity.”

Wonpil rolls his eyes. “Here we go, he’s spotted someone.”

“Who is _that_?”

Wonpil turns to look.

“Oh Jesus Christ. Of course you’d pick him. That’s Jae aka yellowpostitman. We recently bought out the distribution and manufacturing arm of his record label and he’s performing tonight. Super popular, started out on YouTube in 2008, one of the highest grossing on our social media indexes.”

“Age?” Brian raises an eyebrow. “Untethered from how young he looks, I’m guessing.”

“Thirty-two.” Wonpil sighs. “Yeah, untethered like you. And idiot about it too. Something about being immortal or being like Jet Li in The One.”

Brian laughs, his curiosity wakening, a fox pricking its ears to the rustle of movement. “Straight?”

Wonpil shrugs. “Has that ever stopped you before?”

Brian grins then, downing the rest of his drink before laying the glass back on the bar with a clink and picking two fresh glasses of champagne up from a nearby tray.

“Good point.”

 

Jae’s only ever gotten his heartbroken once and he’s decided that he didn’t like it--he was seventeen that summer, had just started his YouTube channel, and had gone on a meet-up with fellow content creators downtown. The guy’s name was Joshua Hong and was all sunrise skin and doe-eyes, a pouty mouth with a soft grin and lips that curved into a heart-shaped trap when he was thinking--a potty mouth that was all soft smiles and vicious curses, his sense of humor slick and cutting, the first person that Jae had ever met who could out-think him, out-wit, out-joke him. Up until then, Jae had been a pretty happy-go-lucky guy, had been the sort of person to roll with the punches and not look back, the kind of guy who was just happy to be there. Meeting Joshua had turned his world upside down, had turned him into a version of himself that he didn’t know: his moods fluctuated--ecstatic and hopeful whenever Joshua called him back, whenever they met up, whenever things were going well, and then depressive, anxious, irritable whenever Joshua talked about other guys or girls, whenever Jae felt his place was uncertain somehow.

And then the day of reckoning had come: they were in the backseat of Joshua’s car parked on a hill overlooking the coast, Jae sitting shirtless with his sweat clinging to his back, shorts pooled at his ankles, their sweaty bodies making a squeaking sound against the leather everytime that they moved. Joshua straddled him, sitting in his lap like it was nothing. Kissing him like it was the most normal thing in the world to do. Pounding hearts, bodies flushed from arousal. Jae had felt the rush of it, felt the clamor of blood in his veins, his passion singing, singing--and then screaming as they went, as they both spilled themselves onto their clothes, onto the leather, onto their summer skin.

Breathless and damp, windows rolling down--a cigarette shared. And then the conversation that threw all of Jae’s hope into the ocean that crashed just beneath them.

“Just--don’t get the wrong idea, though,” Joshua had said slowly, his voice hoarse from the cigarettes, eyes half-lidded from slumber snaking through from the afternoon heat and the efforts of sex. “I mean. You’re a cool guy, Jae, but you also seem like a relationship kind of guy and I don’t want you to mistake this for that.”

Jae had tensed, thankful that he’d been looking the other way. Joshua passed him the cigarette and he took it, taking a long, deep drag and letting the smoke billow out through his slightly-parted lips.

“Why not, though?”

He turned to look at Joshua and found a look of knowing settling on his face like a shroud. “I’m just the kind of guy who wants to live untethered, who wants to see what life has to offer and not always worry about whether or not I’ll find my soulmate, whether or not I’ll upset whoever. I know that that kind of life isn’t for me. And like I said, you seem like a nice guy. Some guy--or girl--will be lucky to be with you one day.”

And so they’d spent the entire summer like that: everything friendly, casual, Jae’s mood stabilizing somewhat. He was hurt but he’d decided he could live with it--he didn’t need forever, only needed there to be now, only needed to be special at least in those moments.

And then the nail in his coffin: Joshua Hong had fallen in love with someone else. Someone that he’d met at college orientation, someone whose name was _perfect_ Joshua kept on gushing because it contained his initials-- _Jeonghan, JeongHan, Joshua Hong_ . Jae had pointed out that his name worked that way too: Jaehyung, JaeHyung, Joshua Hong. But that wasn’t the point. Even then, he knew that it wasn’t the point. This Jeonghan was his soulmate, Joshua had insisted. He just _knew_ it. He just _felt_ it in his bones.

And he was right.

Jae had seen Joshua a couple of years ago at a conference for YouTubers, looking every year of his age, holding hands with Jeonghan. He’d seen the videos of course: the Meet My Husband tag, the Our Wedding video.

That bit was what killed Jae: it isn’t that Joshua wasn’t a relationship person, it’s just that Joshua hadn’t wanted a relationship with _him._ He’d spent that whole summer sulking, experimenting with eyeliner, crying himself to sleep. But also, he’d written more music than he had his whole life up until then. But also, his sad songs were viewed the most, got the most comments and feedback. By the end of the summer, he’d gotten a record deal. By the time August rolled around, he’d met some new friends: Mark and Jackson and Jinyoung and Dowoon who’d all helped him get over it, who’d dragged him out of his hermit phase and brought him to parties, to gigs. They were all untethered too--and planned to be for as long as they could help it. And as his career began, so did his new creed: Jaehyung Park was definitely _not_ a relationship person.

Since then, Jae’s dating policy is as strict as his guitar practice schedule: one-night encounters only, no one who he might have anything in common with, no fellow-musicians or artists, no one who was looking for their soulmate--on occasion people who’d already found their soulmates but had more playful arrangements.

Now, Jae is thirty-two and still all of eighteen--platinum blonde hair, smooth skin, pallor like a glass of milk. Tonight, he’d hit a milestone: playing at Kang Manor, _the_ castle on the hill that sat nestled like a pearl in the middle of Seoul, the courtyard looking out onto the river. The acoustics were incredible, a sixteen-piece orchestra hired to back him up as he played jazzy renditions of his songs which had gone platinum the year before.

Now, after his set, he’s leaning on the bannister, having a cigarette and watching the fireworks illuminate the night--magenta, cerulean, saffron. He grins. _What a wonderful time to be alive._ Below him, people by the edge of the courtyard are watching the lights reflected on the river or canoodling by the pool, their foreheads pressed together. Above him, at the bar, gentlemen in suits and ladies in billowing dresses laugh over cocktails.

He wonders if he’ll see the elusive Brian Kang tonight--while Jae had been doing much better after Kang Industries had bought out their distribution and manufacturing division of his label, he’d never actually _met_ Mr. Kang. Mostly, he talked to Wonpil, who handles his account, although he’d seen a photo of Brian in Wonpil’s office: dark hair, fox-like eyes, a sly smile.

Take my word for it, Dowoon had said when Jae had mentioned the party tonight. He’s hot. You should ask for an introduction.

It had slipped Jae’s mind in the excitement of the evening with the music and the dancing and the drinks. There were a couple of cute guys that he’d seen around but he hadn’t flirted with anyone on the off-chance that some of them were under the label too or hired to play at some point in the evening as well. Too risky, soulmates-wise, too many chances to see them again. He glances around, looking for Wonpil, wondering whether or not it’s too late in the evening to ask for that introduction.

“Mr. Park?” The voice is low but lilting, deep but with a lightness to it that Jae can’t quite place. “Enjoying the party?”

Jae turns around and feels a slow grin make its way across his face. He comes face to face with none other than Brian Kang himself, holding two glasses of champagne. Jae feels his stomach do a little dip, his heart skipping. Dowoon was right. Brian Kang is drop-dead gorgeous, a depth to him in real life that the photographs weren’t quite able to capture: his hair not just dark but jet black, fringe falling at just the right angle into his eyes, eyes which tilted upward at the corners, the deepest brown like chocolate swirled in amber, his smile mischievious, soft.

“Brian Kang.” Brian sets one of the glasses down on the balcony rail’s stone surface, offers Jae his hand.

“Jae Park,” Jae says, grinning, unable to resist smiling his flirtiest smile as he takes Brian’s hand.

Brian’s hand is broad, warm despite being slightly moist from the champagne glass.

Jae feels Brian’s gaze on his eyes, his lips. _Let him stare._ Jae takes a slow drag of his cigarette, holding the smoke in a beat longer before letting it curl out and up through slightly parted lips.

Brian grins as though satisfied with Jae’s response, handing Jae one of the champagne glasses. “Great to finally meet you. I really liked your set earlier.”

Jae lets out a soft laugh. “You better. You paid a good deal to distribute that music.”

Brian takes his champagne glass, raises it toward Jae. “I’ll drink to that.”

Jae clinks his glass against Brian’s. They turn to look up at the sky, now a deep, dark black dotted with stars in the absence of fireworks.

“The party’s great, since you asked. I really appreciate the liberties taken with the decor, the entertainment. It isn’t everyday that you get a sixteen-piece orchestra to back you up on a song that you composed on a ukulele.”

Their eyes meet. Fireworks go off in the night sky, illuminating everything in color. Brian looks away first.

“A beautiful orchestra for a beautiful man.”

Brian keeps his eyes trained on the bright lights as he sips from his glass but Jae knows that he’s paying attention to Jae’s reactions, taking note of how he’ll react.

_A bullshitter. Perfect._

“You’re not too shabby yourself, but I have a very strict policy when it comes to these things.” Jae puts his cigarette out on the ashtray sitting on the stone ledge. He lifts a finger to softly touch the inside of Brian’s wrist.

Brian flinches, lips forming into a smile. He raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a little presumptuous of you?”

Jae grins, finishing the rest of the champagne. “Only if my presumption was wrong which I doubt it is.”

Brian laughs. The depth of it surprises Jae, takes him aback--somehow he’d expected something more aloof, more hard-to-get from someone who’d remained untethered for almost as long as he had, something more guarded. But Brian with his badboy looks and tailor-made designer suit and stoic come-ons had a laugh like a child.

“You’re not wrong,” Brian says, voice suddenly serious. “So, tell me your terms, then.”

“None of this soulmate bullshit,” Jae says. “I’m only open to spending the night with you once and then that’ll be it. After that, we act professional. If we end up sleeping together in the future, it has to be at month-long intervals at least. Also, I never, ever, under any circumstances sleepover.”

To Jae’s surprise, Brian grins.

“Deal.”

 

The sex is mindblowing. Sure, Brian’s slept with a lot of people over the years--guys and girls alike, sometimes at the same time. He had taken full advantage of his seeming everlasting youth and vigor, had mediocre and extraordinary encounters both--but fucking Jae, being fucked by Jae, is a whole other experience, a reckoning in its own league.

There’s a certain chemistry, a kind of spark that he’d never quite experienced before. His blood feels like liquid silver, rushing through his veins, his heart rate going a mile a minute. It’s in the way that Jae kissed, his tongue lapping against Brian’s just so, as if undoing him with every slick slip and curl and being undone in turn by Brian’s reciprocation, a sound in his throat that is both a command and a plea. _Keep going._ It’s in the way that he ran his fingers through Brian’s hair, the way that he shuddered and shook under him as Brian kissed him, the way his long, slender body curled when Brian sucked on the thin skin of neck, leaving small bruises to bloom on his pale skin. It was in the way that Jae didn’t break eye contact as he licked his way from Brian’s collarbone to his nipple, tongue going in maddening circles until the soft flesh hardened in his mouth, the way that he grinned as he began to kiss lower before taking the length of Brian in his mouth and sucking him off painfully slow, wonderfully deep. It was in the way that he matched Brian’s cadence, met him to push, pull against, but also gave way, fell apart at Brian’s touch as Brian pushed Jae back onto the bed, as he straddled him, as he guided Jae into him and rode him fast, frenzied, like his life depended on it. It was in the way he held Brian down as Jae withdrew to climax, pulling the condom off and spurting all over Brian’s back, his thighs.

Jae feels it too: feels like his skin is on fire, like an electric current has caught too much air and all of him is ablaze. There’s something about Brian--the strength and heft of him, aggression undercut by softness, solidity weathered by playfulness. Yes, he gripped tight and stroked Jae deep, close, but he also mewled into Jae’s mouth, also moaned his name, also left small, desperate love bites wherever he set his mouth to: Jae’s neck, the hollow of his pelvis, the insides of his thighs. It’s in the way that Brian kisses, his mouth always caught in a half-smile, always lingering on Jae’s bottom lip, holding it between his teeth, licking along the inside before moving lower, before letting his hands find their perch where Jae’s desire rises to meet him. It’s in the way that he bucks his hips, the way that he guides Jae’s free hand up toward his length as he chases his climax, giving Jae free reign after he’d already spilt himself, after he’d ridden it out. It’s in the face that he makes as Jae undoes him, as he spills himself onto Jae’s chest: eyes half-lidded with pleasure, smile lazy, mouth wide, lips slick with spit, tongue flicking against the corners of his mouth.

Later on, both of them will think that they should’ve known.

But they didn’t--don’t, not yet.

Now, they lie beside each other--not quite cuddling, Jae hugging a pillow, Brian lying on his belly, cheek to the mattress as he turns to face Jae. They’re both exhausted, sated, sleepy from the champagne and sex. Ordinarily, Brian would say _please feel free to use the shower first_ as a means to say _you can go now_.

Normally, Jae would say _mind if I use your bathroom?_ and go get dressed after cleaning himself off. But this isn’t ordinary. It’s sex that takes a toll, sex that has weight. Souls finding each other after a lifetime of waiting. Already, binding together, already age seeping into their bones. They lie there, tangled in the sheets, watching each other.

Jae watches Brian’s thick lashes form shadows across his cheeks as he blinks slowly.

Brian finds himself mesmerized by the way that Jae’s hair falls into his eyes, the way that the light catches and he looks illuminated somehow.

“That was--,” Brian mumbles, his eyelids growing heavy. _Just a bit more. Stay awake just a bit longer._

“--right back atcha,” Jae says, nodding as he lets his eyes flutter shut. _You just have to get dressed and get in your car and drive home. It’s thirty damn minutes. You can last that long._

But the room is pleasantly cool and the sheets are warm, the bed soft, the presence of the other comforting somehow--a lure, a draw pulling them together, keeping them there. A beat of silence--and just like that, they break the rules, fall asleep, their fingers centimeters away from touching on the bed.

 

 

Jae wakes up to the sound of screaming. He jolts awake, a moment of disorientation coming over him like a wave of panic-- _where am I?_ \--as he glances around and realizes that he isn’t at home. He spots his glasses sitting on the bedside table, rolls over and puts them on. The room is dome-shaped, huge, the high ceiling painted with an ornate pattern made to mimic the milky way. The bed is huge with dark blue sheets trimmed with white. French doors sit slightly ajar on one side of the room, opening up to a view of the Han river sparkling in the morning sun.

And then his gaze falls on Brian’s blazer draped over a chair in the far corner--the memory of it comes rushing back: hot kisses, warm breath ghosting over his skin, the feeling of being inside Brian, of Brian bringing himself down on Jae like a hurricane. The warmer memory of watching each other fall asleep. Jae starts to smile and then catches himself, pushes the thought out of his mind. Of all people to fall for, Brian Kang would literally be the _worst_ candidate.

The reality of the situation crashes on Jae like a wave. It’s the next day, he’s still here, had been awoken by something loud.

_Holy shit. I fucking slept over._

Jae gets out of bed, slowly gathering his clothes from where they’re strewn on the floor. He slips into his underwear, puts his jeans on, throws his polo over himself haphazardly, hunting down his tie, his socks, his blazer.

“Hey,” Brian calls as he peers in through the bathroom door.

Jae jumps. “Hey, I was just--”

“--come here,” Brian says, his voice frantic, his tone impatient.

Jae raises an eyebrow, pads into the bathroom. Brian is naked except for his boxers. Jae tries not to stare at the way that his hips curve, the way that his ass moves when he walks, when his calves tense as he leans toward Jae.

Jae blinks, staring at Brian’s hair.

“What?”

Brian gestures toward his head. “What is _that_?”

Jae tilts his head, peering closely before he sees what Brian is pointing at. His heart is pounding in his chest as he touches a finger to the strand. _No. No it can’t be._ He remembers the night before: Brian, his hair the glossiest black that he’d ever seen. Midnight, pitch, oblivion-black.

His eyes meet Brian’s, both of them seeing panic reflected there.

“Is it--” Brian trails off, his question hanging in the air.

Jae swallows, the fear pouring over him. _No, no, no, no, no it can’t be._

“--white hair. Brian, you’re--”

“--no,” Brian says. “No I can’t age, I didn’t meet--unless--”

Jae shakes his head, frantic now as he brings a hand up to cover Brian’s mouth. “--no. No, no, no, don’t say it.”

He draws his hands back, both of them jumping apart as he realizes that even _that_ had felt good, that even then, touching Brian had felt natural, felt right, the impulse to hold him close resting just under his skin, close at hand like one reaches for a favorite pen or a beloved book.

“Not saying it won’t make a difference,” Brian says, his expression growing stern as beads of sweat form on the tip of his nose.

“But it’ll help me stay in denial long enough to figure out a plan.”

“I’m already one step ahead of you,” Brian replies, suddenly all business again, all traces of that laughter, that playfulness gone, wiped away. “We’ll simply act like this never happened for as long as we can. I won’t tell Wonpil or the others, you won’t tell any of your friends. I will give you a regular stipend to--”

“--I don’t want your money, I don’t need your money--”

“--well, you will because when people find out about this they’re going to hunt you down and you’ll need to get away--”

“--they won’t find out--”

“--Jae,” Brian says, reaching out to hold Jae by the shoulders. It tingles where they touch. Jae tempers the impulse to lean in and kiss him. “Eventually, people will start to ask questions. You’re an entertainer, you should know. Make up will only cover our age up so much. Eventually, we’ll get older, eventually people will figure it out especially because we’re both famous for looking so damn young. So take the money. Save it up for a rainy day because when people figure it out, you’re going to have to find a place to run.”

Jae shrugs out of Brian’s grasp as he feels that familiar ache, the one he hadn’t felt since he was seventeen--of wanting to be liked, wanting to be loved, wanting to be someone’s _someone_.

_Snap out of it. Take the money._

“Fine. Give Wonpil the check, then. I don’t want to spend another minute in here with you. I can't _breathe._ ”

With that, Jae spins on his heel and finding his blazer under the far table, takes it and storms out of the room. As soon as he’s gone, Brian leans on the counter, tears spilling down his cheeks, his shoulders shuddering as he sobs. Because even now, even only moments from his departure, Brian feels it: longing for Jae, a deep, echoing want to be with him, a sense of loss that he hadn’t felt before in his life. He finds his right hand reaching for his chest as if tapping the space above his heart will still the mad beating underneath.

Suddenly, he understands what his mother means, understands her perfectly.

_Knock, knock, knock--no fix will ever be enough again._


	2. A Candle In The Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they try to run away from the tether that binds their souls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll correct typos in the morning. Enjoy!

Jae runs as fast as he can, flies, even, gets on a plane and heads back to LA before the weekend is out--and Brian lets him, gives him what he needs to be able to do it even before Jae’s manager contacts Wonpil later that week about Jae’s sudden departure, his voice all apologies and concern. Brian figures Jae would run. If he hadn’t done it first, then Brian would have done it too: spent a few months in Toronto, maybe gone hopping around Europe for a couple of years. It’s what they’re both good at--two peas in a pod, two puzzle pieces made to slide together, wanting nothing more than to be tossed wildly apart.

The first chance that he gets, Brian e-mails Wonpil everything: the instructions for the funds to be transferred to Jae’s account monthly, the go-ahead for Wonpil to make executive decisions re: the yellowpostitman account in his stead, the cancellation of his attendance to a benefit gala in Manhattan happening in a few months where Jae would be performing and at which Brian was supposed to be a patron.

_Make the donation and send my apologies._

Wonpil’s response is confused but Brian knows that if anyone knows him, if anyone knows not to ask, it’ll be Wonpil.

_Got it, BossK. Rough night, I’m assuming. Hang in there. Best hangover cure = Bloody Mary minus the gin._

_It’ll sort itself out. Thanks, Pil._

Brian makes the Bloody Mary with an extra serving of gin. Over the next month, Brian throws himself into work, thrashes against the tide of business meetings and upscale parties, of soirees wherein shop talk is done in bathrooms bent over a line of whatever was hip to sniff that night, contracts signed over whiskeys drunk in offices made of heavy oak and carpeted with faux-velvet floors. Anything to take his mind off of the constant pull of longing, the constant desire to want to cry, to want to fly across the ocean and tell Jae they should just give up the game, should just get together already.

_How can you want someone you’ve only just met so fucking bad? It’s ridiculous._

The nights he goes to bed sober are the worst: the places vary (a beach house overlooking a sparkling ivory coast with sapphire-blue water, an apartment with the view of a twinkling city, a cabin up in the mountains with a soft fire burning in the hearth) but the situation stays the same. In his dreams, he is always holding Jae close, always laughing, always kissing Jae softly as Jae laughs tenderly against his lips. And then just as he starts to feel safe, just as he is about to let his guard down, Jae disappears, dissipating like smoke in his arms.

Everytime, Brian wakes up shaking, the sheets drenched in sweat.

And so he makes sure that his nights are occupied for the most part, that he has a drink at hand or a warm body in his bed: someone, anyone, to fuck him or for him to fuck hard until his muscles ache and he doesn’t have to go begging sleep to crash into him. Tonight, he’s lying in bed, both breathless and sated and deeply, deeply bored, one of his very good friends in his bed, beautiful and naked and blameless in his apathy.

“So, are you going to tell me about it or not?” Sunmi asks, sitting up in bed and lighting a cigarette, her dark hair falling over her shoulder. She blows the smoke slowly out through parted lips, stretching her legs out in front of her, not bothering to cover herself up with the blankets.

They’ve both done this countless times before.

“What do you mean?” Brian asks, tossing the condom into the garbage bin and lighting a cigarette up himself.

Sunmi laughs. “Oh come on, Bri. We’ve known each other too long for you to actually think you can fool me.”

Brian raises an eyebrow. “Well, what do you think you know?”

Sunmi grins, reaching over and tracing the shape of Brian’s lips, his nose, the curve of his cheek with a finger. “I’ve been sleeping with you long enough to be able to tell--a laughline a hair too deep, your hips a little wider than before, your shoulders beginning to broaden, the crinkle in your nose lingering too long after you smile when you think you’re being too charming.”

Brian lets out  a small laugh, ponders whether or not to tell her what he already knows she knows.

Sunmi is one of Brian’s oldest friends from business school, an entrepreneur in fashion and styling whose company, Wonder Fashion, did close business with his for their supply chain and manufacturing services. All Kang Hotels’ employees were uniformed in that stylish, sleek, minimalist aesthetique that Sunmi is famous for. And all Wonder Fashion subsidiaries--be it the upscale Gashina Couture houses in Milan and Paris or the ready-to-wear Why So Lonely mall outlets scattered throughout most major cities in the world--are powered and distributed, shipped by Kang Heavy Industries.

She’s one of Brian’s favorite people to talk to, to sleep with because she had a kind of quiet strength, a seductive confidence that Brian both aspires to and is attracted to, that he came away from every encounter of theirs feeling like he was closer to possessing. For one thing, she’d conquered Brian’s worst fear and flourished: she’s tethered, has been since she was twenty to Hyuna, another friend of theirs, a very successful corporate lawyer whose firm handled both Kang Industries’ and Wonder Fashion’s legal matters. Fire meeting fire, Sunmi and Hyuna have been in an open relationship for years, all of the emotional stuff exclusive, private, only between them, but from the beginning they’d both known that physically, both of them were too playful to be exclusive in that regard. They let each other play, explore other people, occasionally invited other people into bed with them when they both felt like it. Brian’s been with both of them a couple of times but mostly, he sleeps with Sunmi when she obliges him: Brian is fire too, she’s always telling him. But gentler. Fire that nourishes rather than consumes, fire burning slowly over gas spilled across water.

In the end, Brian decides to go with honesty, decides that he may as well talk about it to someone he knows will understand him to a certain extent. The running away part, anyway.

“I met my soulmate.” Brian realizes this is the first time he’s talked about it and the admission feels like a weight being lifted off of his shoulders. “It’s terrible.”

Sunmi laughs, putting the cigarette out on the ashtray by the bedside table. “Of course. Meeting someone who’s made for you--terrible, right?”

Brian shrugs. “I--I don’t want to be tethered. I’m not going to be. I mean, he and I, we’ve decided not to do anything about it. We’re staying apart.”

Sunmi’s eyes grow wide, then, her expression suddenly serious. “Bri, do you know why most people find their soulmates before they’re thirty?”

Brian shakes his head. “No. Like I said, I intended to never do it. But I was careless, I guess. Or just unlucky as fuck.”

Sunmi smiles sadly. “It’s because age catches up with you. The later it happens, the more rapid the change becomes like your body is trying to make up for all the years that it was held back. The older you are when it happens, the more difficult it is for you to adjust. And do you know what keeps people from killing their soulmates in the pursuit of eternal youth?”

“Jesus, Sunmi, don’t be so macabre,” Brian says. “I’m not going to have him _killed_ , I like him, it’s just--”

“--I’m serious,” Sunmi says, straightening up. “What do you think happens to someone if their soulmate dies before they meet them?”

Brian shrugs. “I don’t know, they find the Holy Grail or something? I’m not sure what happens if they die before meeting them, but I know what happens if they die after and it’s terrible. You know what happened to my mom. She--I miss her. How she used to be.”

Sunmi sighs. “Your mom is lucky. She’s living out her days and that’s admirable. People whose soulmates die before they meet them develop a kind of emotional phantom limb: they end up crying for no reason, they end up feeling the loss from something they never had and that ages them prematurely, from the inside-out. Physically, it’s been shown to make bones more fragile, to make hearts weaker. Imagine being eighteen on the outside and seventy on the inside, not knowing why but being too weak to get up in the morning, too weak to run or to laugh or to let yourself _live._ It’s science and if you ask me _that’s_ what’s most terrifying.”

“Fine, but don’t I have a say in this? Can’t we agree to just not be with each other even if we are soulmates? Is there a way to get rid of this feeling like I’m being ripped apart from inside?”

“Oh, Bri.” Sunmi smiles, then, planting a small kiss on the corner of Brian’s mouth. “You remember when Hyuna and I were trying not to see each other? Back when the thought of being in a relationship with someone felt like the death of my sex life?”

“Sure.” Brian nods, remembering all of the late nights that he and Sunmi had spent talking about that over a bottle or two of beer: fear of commitment, fear of being tied down, fear of staying put. “What about it?”

“When we finally decided on the terms of our relationship, we talked about what it was that really bothered us--and it was this idea of being tied down, of being bolstered to a situation that we weren’t comfortable with. But if there’s anything that I’ve learned, it’s that your soulmate is there to teach you something. Might not be romance the way you’d usually see it, might not even be romance at all--some people stay friends and marry other people. Some people stay friends and leave it at that, but if you cut each other out of your lives, really, you’ll only be hurting yourselves. What a waste not to be able to learn what you have to from someone who could show you a whole other way to view the world.”

“Don’t you ever get scared of there being _too much_? It’s like notebooks, like paper. What if there’s too much to learn and not enough paper to write it on?”

Sunmi grins. “I’m more afraid of the opposite. What are you going to do with all of these notebooks and nothing to write?”

It’s quiet then, both of them soaking in the moment. Brian sighs, lies back and stares at the ceiling.

“I guess you’re right."

 

Jae rents out a beach house by the coast, blowing Brian’s stipend on the down payment. He throws parties almost every night for a month, basking in the energy of them, losing himself in the stories of people he hasn’t seen in awhile, in the excitement of meeting new people, making new friends.

Anyway, he’s already submitted his material for the next album which is currently in production. Anyway, people like vlogs about surfing and moving around. Anyway, he’ll probably eventually have to tell people about what’s happened, one way or another. With YouTube, Jae’s learned that the currency in which the game is played is the illusion of what’s personal--anecdotes, music, what-have-you. Of course, Jae wouldn’t tell them who, wouldn’t tell them how, exactly, but there’d have to be some explanation, some kind of _why_. But until then, there’s this: a refusal to bow, to give into the thing clawing at his heart like a hawk kept in a cage--fierce and determined and trying very, very hard to escape.

That first morning, when he’d walked out of Brian’s room, out of Kang Manor, he’d realized why they called it being _tethered_ : he’d felt it, that invisible rope that tied Brian’s soul to his stretch and tense, pull taut as he left, as he tried to tell himself that there wasn’t anything there worth having. The farther he got, the louder, the more gripping the sensation felt--Jae’s never been a good sleeper, has always had night terrors, fits of restlessness that he’d learned to deal with eventually: nothing too stimulating at least an hour before bed, peaceful music, meditation. But not all the meditation in the world, not even the sound of the ocean itself as it crashed against the shore, could take this feeling away from him--the feeling of longing, of remembering how good it felt to be in Brian’s presence, even as they were trying hard not to be there.

The dreams are a kind of loop: always, it’s that morning, as Brian told him what was going to happen, how it was going to be, as Brian broke the hope that neither of them knew they’d still been holding onto when he began to come up with contingencies and escape plans like the possibility of love, the very thought of it, was the apocalypse. They’re standing in the middle of Brian’s bathroom, the tile that same, soft, powder-blue, the sunlight coming in through the window. Jae is staring at the strand of silver growing on Brian’s head, feeling a stem of gladness, of relief in his heart--a stuttering _maybe_ . In the dream, he doesn’t shrug Brian’s hands from his shoulders, doesn’t walk away, only leans in and holds Brian in his arms and says he won’t take the money, says he’s willing to fight for whatever _this_ is. In the dream, Brian is all soft kisses and that loud, ringing laughter. In the dream, Brian says _stay_. And Jae does.

Every time, he wakes up crying, the sobs tearing through him like wind through paper in a storm. He wails until the sun comes up, the sadness spooled in his chest spilling out of him unbidden: where had all of this come from? Where was it all coming from?

In the absence of a fix, Jae throws the parties and gets baked with Mark and Bernard or gets drunk with Jinyoung and Jackson and Dowoon, falling into dreamless slumber on the sand or on nights when no one wants to come out and hang out, he plays the guitar until his fingers ache, works on new music, sad music, music about longing and regret. Jae plays until the sun comes up, until he doesn’t have to hunt for slumber because he trips into it: falling asleep at his desk, on the couch, at his chair in the room he’s turned into a home studio.

Eventually, it’s Dowoon that figures it out, Dowoon, who is the King of Being Untethered, who didn’t so much not _want_ to find his soulmate as just didn’t really care about it. If he met his soulmate, Dowoon would always say, then he’d be friends with them. Then they’d hangout all the time and split rent because that’d make life easier. Dowoon, one of Jae’s closest friends and his favorite jerk-off buddy, who was aromantic and who didn’t really desire anything from sex other than sex itself, who laughed easy and angered slow, who told things to everyone like they were with no exceptions. It’s this point-blank quality, this light-heartedness that’s always made Dowoon so easy for Jae to be around, made it easy for Jae to watch porn and jerk off with: things were never going to go any romantic way with them, so they could just slap each others’ salami and be relieved and done with it. It’s efficient, it’s practical. Jae knows what Dowoon likes and vice versa: it’s easy, just friends doing each other favors.

Today, as they sit slumped on Jae’s couch, the screen paused in the black post-cumshot, both of them sticky with each other. Dowoon wipes Jae’s cum off of his hands with a wet wipe before handing Jae the packet. Jae follows suit, shooting the balled up wipe into the trash can near by. _Score. Three points._ The orange afternoon light seeps into the living room, everything warm and lazy and Jae is just about to fall asleep when Dowoon speaks.

“So where’d you end up meeting him?”

“Who?”

“Your soulmate. Oh wait, is it a her?”

Jae sits up, then, adrenaline rushing through him. _Was it that obvious?_ Every morning, he’d checked for signs of aging, signs of looking visibly older, had come up empty.

“How did you--”

“--you know how Peter Pan could probably tell better than anyone else that Wendy had aged when he went to visit her? I guess it’s something like that. I just know. It’s in the way you act.”

“The way I _act_?” Jae repeats. “I’m literally sitting here, having just jerked you off to Pirates of the Cum-ibean: A Porn Parody.”

Dowoon laughs. “Yeah and you had your eyes closed the whole time. Usually, you’re such a pervert you’d rather die thank blink. Also, you’ve been a lot more contemplative, you keep asking people about their lives and their dreams--I dunno, you just _feel_ older.”

Jae sighs. “Yeah. Well, I met him. I dunno if this is payback for all of those years of me being mad at Joshua and hating him for finding his soulmate or just not wanting me. I met my soulmate and he doesn’t want me.”

“Who _doesn’t_ want someone to split the rent with?” Dowoon asks, shrugging as he switches modes on the TV, working to setup the XBox.

Jae shrugs. “I dunno. Someone who has everything--”

Jae realizes what he’s said too late. Dowoon’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, he drops the cable he’s holding.

“Holy fuck. IS IT BRIAN KANG? _The_ Brian Kang?”

Jae shrugs. “Well, I wouldn’t say _the_ \--”

“--hah, toldja he was hot.” Dowoon grins, shaking his head as he plugs the controllers in. “How’d you find out?”

“Well. We fucked and--”

“--no, I mean, how’d you find out he didn’t want you?”

“He just isn’t into that whole soulmate thing, seems to be actively avoiding it. And I wasn’t-- _am_ not either. You know me. So. He kind of said that he’d basically pay for me to have a comfortable life while hiding out or whatever. Fuck, I don’t know, Dowoonie. I’m confused.”

“Do _you_ want him? I mean. More than sexually.”

“I’m not sure,” Jae says quietly. “I don’t want to want him, but I’d be lying through my fucking teeth if I didn’t feel like there was something there. All my life, I’ve kind of felt a little bit wispy, a little bit lost, a little bit restless, maybe. And there’s an odd kind of stability to him. Or is it that he’s more playful than I am and that makes _me_ feel more stable? I don’t know. But one thing’s for sure--it’s more visceral than I’d thought. I always thought it was a placebo kind of thing where you’d just psych yourself up into feeling like you want someone, but the sex was mind-blowing. Dowoonie, I wanted to _hold_ him--”

“--holy shit--”

“--I slept over.”

“Fuck.”

“I know right.” Jae pulls a throw pillow over his head and screams into it. “I feel like I’m being fucking torn apart. Dowoonie, if there’s anything I wish for you, it’s that you never, ever find your soulmate. You’d probably hate that. All of the romance it’d entail.”

Dowoon shrugs. “If they’re really my soulmate, they won’t care about romance either.”

Jae snorts. “How would you even know that?”

“Well,” Dowoon says. “If anyone’s going to partner up with my soul, they’re going to have to know somehow that I don’t feel like holding hands or snuggling. I just want a bestfriend. Think about it. You and Brian Kang have both been repulsed by this idea of a soulmate, have both been avoiding it. So if I meet my soulmate, it better be someone like Kim from Scott Pilgrim who just wants to play the drums and video games.”

Jae grins at that, ruffling Dowoon’s hair. “Good point, Dowoonie.”

“So when are you seeing him next?”

Jae shrugs. “I’m not sure. Maybe this gala thing at the end of the month? I’m not sure. Of course, he knows I’m performing--they handled the delivery of the albums, the shipment of the equipment, but that probably he means he won’t go. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“If he’s there, you should ask him out.”

Jae raises an eyebrow. “Have you not heard a _word_ of what I’ve said?”

“I have. And _that’s_ how I know it’s so fucking obvious you want to.” Dowoon tosses Jae one of the controllers. “Now are we playing or what?”

 

Brian takes a deep breath as the car pulls up to the Ilsan mansion, its roof blue-on-silver, the Kang Industries colors. It’s bigger, wider than Kang Manor in Seoul, but less sprawling, simpler--made of strong, dark wood and fashioned in the style of traditional Korean houses with the courtyard in front, separate houses for resting in and dining and studying. The past two weeks have been a whirlwind of emotion for him. Since the night with Sunmi, he’s tried to be more rational, tried to deal with the things going on his head.

In the end, all of it tied to his father dying, all of rooted in this fear of wasting away or leaving someone to waste away after he’s gone. _What a waste,_ Sunmi had said. And Brian hadn’t ever thought of that before, hadn’t thought about the what-ifs on the other end of the spectrum. What if you never loved anyone your entire life? What if whether or not you let yourself be happy, you lost a part of yourself, anyway?

The drive down had been the longest trip that Brian’s ever had to make, his emotions going in a cycle of fear and anxiety and resolve. He walks up to the main house, bidding his legs to push forward, forcing himself to ring the bell and step inside. He hates seeing his mom sitting by the window, staring out at the yard like she wasn’t really there, like she was seeing something else--stuck in the past, caught between life and something that’s always seemed worse than death to Brian.

“Younghyun, Sir,” their butler greets him as he walks into the main house. “What brings you home today?”

“Mr. Kim,” Brian nods. “Is Eomma home?”

“She’s in the tea house.”

“Alright, thank you.” Brian moves out through the east doors, crossing the small path leading to the tea house where his mom kept her books and her sewing and had her tea every afternoon.

When he opens the sliding door, he feels that familiar kick of pain in his chest as his gaze falls on his mom, her gray hair braided in a simple line down her back. She’s sitting by the window, a book open but ignored on her lap. Her tea cup is still full, still steaming on the small table beside her. He sighs, putting a hand on her shoulder gently.

“Eomma,” Brian says softly. “It’s me.”

His mom looks up at him, smiles faintly. She takes a moment to contemplate him, touching his cheek before gesturing to the seat beside her.

“Younghyunnie. How nice of you to visit. Would you like some tea?”

Brian shakes his head as he takes a seat, unbuttoning his coat. “No, I don’t think I’ll be long. There’s just something that I wanted to talk to you about.”

A ghost of a smile lifts at the corners of his mother’s mouth. “You look different today.”

“Ah,” Brian says, smiling, putting a hand over his mother’s. “Yes. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Brian shifts uneasily in his chair as his mother’s old reflex takes hold--her hand touching the space over her heart faintly, thrice. _Knock, knock, knock--it still hurts._

“Is that okay, Eomma? Just tell me if you’re tired or if this topic is too taxing then we'll stop.”

The nod is faint but perceptible. Brian takes it a sign to proceed.

“I suppose you have an inkling. I’ve finally met him. My….you know, my person. I’ve tried so hard for years not to but it crept up on me anyway. And I was wondering if you ever had any regrets. About you and Appa, about meeting him, settling down with him. I don’t want to sound cruel or condescending, but you haven’t been the same, you know, since he passed away. Do you ever resent him for any of it?”

His mother smiles, then--not a hint at it, not the beginning of it, but an actual smile, her eyes lifting into the half-crescents that Brian’s missed so much. Brian’s heart kicks in his chest, tears welling in his eyes at the sight of his mother there, present after all of these years.

“Oh, my dear boy,” his mother says, squeezing his hand. “Don’t you know me at all?”

Brian’s lip quivers. “What do you mean, Eomma?”

“Of course I would never be the same after your father left. I loved him-- _love_ him with all my heart. We’re not supposed to be okay when the people we love leave us, when people we love pass away. We’re supposed to be a little broken and a little less ourselves. Tragedies only happen when there’s something that you hold dear, hold close to your heart like a knife that could push in any minute. Forgive me if I haven’t been--”

“--there’s nothing to forgive,” Brian whispers. “I just wanted to know if--”

“--if it was worth it?” His mother asks softly. “If the grief I suffered at his death was worth the happiness I was given when he was alive?”

Brian nods, the tears streaming down his cheeks. “If you could do it all again--”

His mother reaches over then, putting her hand softly over the left side of Brian’s chest. “--I wouldn’t change a thing. I would still have turned to your father the day that I met him and asked him to lend me a pen, would he, because I needed one to sign off on my checkbook for a pair of earrings--that’s how we did things back then, checkbooks and all of these things that needed you to carry a pen around which I never did. I would still have married him on the summer solstice and stood there, sweating bullets in my hanbok as my mother fussed over my hair. I would have still had you, my Younghyunnie, a thousand times over. Because what your father gave me was a kind of light, a brightness in a world where there really wasn’t anything else for me. I grew up well-off, as you know, your grandparents were rather absent when I was younger and so while I had all of these _things_ at my mercy, I had such a hard time thinking about what it meant for something--or someone--to _mean_ anything. And when I met your father, this young, bold, nearly shameless entrepreneur who was dashing and funny and sweet, I felt it in my bones: a part of me growing up, a part of me learning, even then, the simplest of things--carry a pen with you wherever you go. Your father taught me to be a person and for that, I’d bear any amount of grief again and again and again.”

Brian pulls his mother close in a tight hug, feeling her shudder against him as she, too begins to cry. They go like that for a while, mother and son, finally letting go of more than a decade of unspoken grief, of hidden fears, of questions never asked for fear of their answer. When they pull away, his mother holds a hand up to Brian’s cheek, wiping away his tears.

“Promise me that you’ll let me meet him.”

Brian smiles at that, his voice soft, thinking about the way that Jae had drifted off to sleep that night, the soft timbre of his voice, the way that his smile was bright like the sunrise. _Light, huh._

“If he’ll have me, I promise.”

 

The gala is overly formal, the program drawn out, the two hours for which it’s supposed to last extending into three, four. Jae’s tired, having just performed to an audience that seemed bored out of their wits. The songs he’d played were chosen before the entire Brian thing, were upbeat, chipper songs rendered in  a jazzier style to suit the occasion. He hadn’t been in the mood and it seemed to carry: the applause was polite but Jae has been performing for years now, knows a lack of enthusiasm when he sees it.

Plus, of course, Brian hadn’t been there. He’d checked the RSVP page, had seen his box ticked no, had seen that Wonpil was going to be there in his place--and right now, Jae would kill to see at least Wonpil, at least someone he could ask about how Brian was doing. Of course, he’d seen news articles about him over the past few months, but they were all about business: Kang Industries acquiring VIXX Oil, Lee Energy, the distribution arms of a couple of newer movie companies. But nothing personal--Brian Kang, gone without a trace.

Jae decides to leave early, decides to just head up to his room and call it a night. His flight the next day is later in the day than he’d like, wanting nothing more than to be back home on the West Coast, baking himself into dreamless slumber on the sand, the ocean licking at his ankles. He tosses his coat onto the bed, opens the sliding door to the balcony and lights up a cigarette, takes a long drag. He watches the lights in the other rooms, wonders whether any of these people are as bored as he is, wonders if all of the people who were here sharing these rooms where sharing them with their soulmates. A million ways to tell a story, a million stories to tell bound by a single premise.

His phone rings in his pocket. He pulls it out, the number unknown. One name rings in his mind, filling him with hope he is reluctant to have. _Please._

He hits the green button.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

Jae’s heart thuds in his chest, the hawk in his chest thrashing in its cage.

“Hey yourself.”

“Look, I’ve been thinking--” Brian’s voice is warm, is tender through the line.

“--yeah?” Jae asks, his free hand gripping the rail so hard that his knuckles turn white.

Jae looks to his right as in the suite adjacent to his, the light on the balcony flickers on.

“--maybe I’ve been an idiot.”

Jae’s eyes widen as the sliding door opens and Brian steps out onto the balcony beside his, the evening wind ruffling his dark hair. Brian looks different, so much older than he did that first night that they’d met, that first night that they’d slept together. He looks taller, more filled out, his shoulders broad, his chest more solid, his cheeks filled out, something gentler about his eyes. Jae grins slowly, walking over to the part of the terrace where their balconies are closest, where they almost meet. He leans on the rail, watching Brian watch him, his cheeks flushed as he holds the phone to his ear.

“Go on,” Jae says. “I’m listening.”

“I’m sorry I missed the gala. Turns out it’s hard to get a re-invite to these things especially when you have them change the name on the invites already and then your bestfriend-slash-account-manager decides he can’t go because his husband is sick with the flu.”

Jae shrugs. “You didn’t miss much. Now dial it back to the part where you were an idiot.”

Their gazes meet across the balconies. Jae’s heart flutters.

“Right.” Brian laughs that laugh that Jae only now knows he’s been longing to hear for months: carefree, genuine, innocent under the bravado. “See, all my life, I’ve been running from vulnerability. It’s a long story one that I hope I’ll have the chance to tell you one day, but I’ve hated feeling like things are out of my control. I hated the concept of being tied to someone, of having someone else have a say in what your life is supposed to turn out like.”

“I understand that,” Jae says. “It sucks. Someone broke my heart real bad when I was younger and I’ve spent a long time running from ever having to be in that situation ever again. It’s hard, you know. These things where people barge into your life and you think you’re just spending a night with them and you wake up--”

“--tethered?” Brian suggests. He leans on the rail too, now, so that if either of them reached a hand out, their fingertips would brush.

“Something like that.”

Brian hangs up, then, putting his phone into his pocket. Jae follows suit, biting back a smile. They watch each other for a while, Brian watching Jae: all six feet of him, his shoulders broad against the silhouette of the balcony light, blonde hair a smudge as it whips around in the wind, eyes bright, smile wide. Jae watching Brian: gentle eyes, soft smile. It’s Brian who breaks the silence.

“Jae? Will you go out on a date with me?”

Jae rolls his eyes. “Fine, but on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Come over here and kiss me.”

Brian grins then, disappearing from the balcony, stepping back inside the suite. Jae grins, running back into his own hotel room, undoing the lock on the door as he hears Brian’s footsteps shuffling in the hallway outside. He opens the door right as Brian’s poised to knock. Jae pulls Brian in by his neck tie. Brian’s arms come around Jae’s waist, Jae rests his arms on Brian’s shoulders as their eyes flutter shut, heads tilting slightly as they move closer, closer still, their lips meeting in a kiss that’s soft but deep, tentative and slow, tasting, mapping out the territory of tongue, teeth, lips. It’s electric. Jae feels alive for the first time in months, the hairs on the backs of his arms rising--the hawk in his chest bursts free of its cage as Brian licks softly into his mouth. Jae sighs further into the kiss, sucking softly on Brian’s lower lip before moving to let his tongue lap against Brian’s again. _There you are._ Brian’s pulse is going a mile a minute, he wonders if it’s actually possible to pass out just from kissing someone. His hands are all atingle where they touch Jae’s skin--now, the line of his neck, now the apples of his cheeks.

When they pull away, both of them are breathless. Brian moves a hand to rest on Jae’s nape, holding their foreheads pressed together.

“Jae?”

“Mmmm?”

“I’m terrified.”

Jae grins, holding Brian’s hand in his.

“It’s okay. Me too. Scared fucking shitless.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update on Tuesday, GMT+8. Also, it’s DoPil week starting Tuesday, you guys! Check @day6sailing on Twitter for details. :D


	3. Let’s Not Go Through Our Lives Without Dying To Be Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DoPil week starts at midnight :D Thanks for reading this fic. Check @day6sailing on Twitter for details. :D

It’s easier than either of them had supposed: like a hand slipping into a glove in the winter. Warmth, comfort, softness. They spend a few days in LA. Brian cancels all his meetings, makes reservations for a hotel about twenty minutes away from Jae’s place--Jae tells him to stop being stupid, asks him to stay over. 

The first few nights Brian stays in the guest room adjacent to Jae’s, both of them suddenly tentative, suddenly mindful of what all this could mean. At night, they both lie awake until they feel the other drift off to sleep: it’s a strange feeling, the smallest, quietest sensation, like the radio volume being turned down low slowly, slowly, until it’s just a steady hum underneath all of the other sounds. 

Finally, sleep. 

Jae stops dreaming about that first morning, stops waking up crying--instead, he dreams of the sea rolling against the shore, the breeze kissing his cheeks. In Brian’s dreams, Jae stops disappearing: simply holds him close and kisses his nose.  _ Hey, you.  _

They take it slow, the opposite of the first time they’d met: no funny tricks, no ploys to get the other into bed, no quick comebacks. 

_ Only fools rush in.  _

And they’d both been fools long enough. 

For a few days, they meander around the task of setting a  _ when _ and  _ where _ for the first date, simply spend time with each other. They wake up and have breakfast in the kitchen, Brian cooking and brewing them coffee, Jae doing the dishes. Sometimes, they head out for a swim. Sometimes, they drive to one of the local markets and eat ice cream. Some days they just spend lounging on the couch, playing video games. Their conversations are easy, funny, filled with Brian’s anecdotes about business school and Jae’s stories of growing up by the beach when he was deathly allergic to pretty much everything except sand and sea water. 

It’s a week and a half before Jae works up the nerve to ask, slips the yellow post-it note across the table at Brian as he’s mid-pancake bite. 

_ Date? Friday, 6pm-ish? _

The first date is a simple one--well, simple for someone like Brian Kang. Simple for someone going on the first date with their soulmate. They have a late afternoon picnic by the beach, both of them walking down from the house with a basket of cold cuts and cheese between them. Brian holds the thick beach blanket under one arm, Jae brings champagne sweating in a bucket of ice. Brian wears a white tank top, his best breezy white pants. Jae decides on a loose, oversized polo the color of sunshine worn over shorts that show off his long legs. 

Brian unfurls the blanket, catches a glimpse of Jae smiling at him as the fabric stutters the light, having it run through everything like film: a glance, a grin. They sit side by side, laying the food out in front of them. Jae pops the cork, laps up the foam that spills up top. It’s cool on his lips. He passes Brian the bottle. Brian grins, taking a swig before setting it back down in the bucket of ice. 

Their shoulders brush against each other. Carefully, Jae rests his weight against Brian, testing it out, seeing what happens. Brian smiles, pushing softly back, tilting his head ever-so-slightly so that his cheek is resting on Jae’s shoulder. 

Brian plucks a cube of cheese out of the small container, offers it to Jae, who opens his mouth in response. Fingers, lips, the cube of cheese disappearing as Jae’s tongue flicks softly against Brian’s fingers. A grin. Jae blushes. 

“You’re cute when you get embarrassed,” Brian says. 

“Shut up,” Jae retorts, grinning. “You better enjoy it, it doesn’t happen very often.” 

Brian slips his hand into Jae’s, intertwining their fingers. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

The flush across Jae’s cheeks deepens. “No fair.” 

“Sorry,” Brian says, feeling his own cheeks heat up. “I make up for being nervous by laying the bravado on thick. It’s a thing.” 

Jae laughs. “Yeah, I might know someone else who does that too. Kinda insecure, so he just kinda brags all over the place.”

“Yeah? I heard he’s kinda hot, that guy.” Brian replies, squeezing Jae’s hand. 

Jae giggles, hiding his face against Brian’s cheek, planting a soft kiss there. “Stahp.” 

For a moment, they just sit in silence, just watching the sun disappear into the sea, feeling their palms warm against each other, enjoying the comfort of knowing that the other is simply  _ there.  _ The warm breeze blows by, the cooler evening wind slowly riding in. 

“Bri?”

“Hmmmm?”

“Sleep in my bed tonight?”

  
  
  


This time, it’s different--the first time had been headlong, the rush, the high of one another overwhelming, that spark giving it all of the  _ boom _ that they needed to start the blazing fire between them. This time there’s more intent, both of them tentative, tender as they kiss, as they caress, as they let their hands explore. It’s still electric, still magic flowing through Brian’s veins, a love spell raging under Jae’s skin, but both of them are older now, having aged almost to their actual ages in the span of two or so months. Their bodies are broader, both of them a little heavier. 

They move slower but surer, Brian pulling Jae closer by his nape suddenly but kissing him soft--Jae pushing into Brian deep but holding him close, moaning softly into his mouth but looking into his eyes. Brian is lost in the moment, his sole drive to satisfy Jae, to make him feel good, to explore as much of him as he can. Jae is hyper aware, every touch a small explosion of feeling, every kiss bright and burning. By the time they climax, both of them are so lost in each other, so enamored by the feeling of being together that it’s a quiet sound: the smallest movement as they spill themselves out onto each other, the smallest gasp like a fire being doused against water. 

They ease into slumber in each others’ arms, the promises of tomorrow, of the years to come holding them close, blanketing them both. 

Before he falls asleep to the rhythmic sound of Jae’s breathing, Brian has a final thought, a glimpse into the fear he’d once held onto so tightly for so long:  _ one day, all of this will be gone. One way or another.  _ A shudder of panic, a remnant of that old anxiety. He thinks of the future that he wants with Jae: the home and the cozy Christmases, the anniversaries, the days and days of telling each other stories, of cooking with each other, of how warm and homey the manor would be once they lived together--and how all of that could be taken from them with the blink of an eye. And then he turns to look at Jae, as peaceful in slumber as he was vibrant in waking life. 

In his sleep, Jae’s arms tighten around Brian. He mumbles something soft, almost imperceptible. 

“What is it, Jae?” Brian whispers in the dark, curious now, amused. 

Jae sighs, buries his nose in Brian’s hair before kissing his nape softly. “Stop worrying. We’re going to be fine.” 

Brian grins then, letting himself be held--and for once, holding on for dear life too. 


End file.
